Readings

Isaiah 7.10–16 – Again the Lord spoke to Ahaz, saying, Ask a sign of the Lord your God; let it be deep as Sheol or high as heaven. But Ahaz said, I will not ask, and I will not put the Lord to the test. Then Isaiah said: ‘Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary mortals, that you weary my God also? Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel.He shall eat curds and honey by the time he knows how to refuse the evil and choose the good. For before the child knows how to refuse the evil and choose the good, the land before whose two kings you are in dread will be deserted.

Matthew 1.18–end – Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.’ All this took place to fulfil what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: ‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel’, which means, ‘God is with us.’ When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus.

Sermon

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Advent is a season of waiting, but it is not a passive waiting. It is a season charged with expectation, uncertainty, and hope. We wait not because nothing is happening, but because something is happening—often quietly, often hidden, often in ways we do not yet understand.

Our readings this morning place us in two moments of deep uncertainty.

In Isaiah, we meet King Ahaz of Judah, a ruler under immense pressure. His kingdom is threatened by powerful enemies; his future feels fragile; fear hangs thick in the air. God speaks to him through the prophet Isaiah and offers him reassurance. “Ask the Lord your God for a sign,” Isaiah says—any sign, “as deep as Sheol or as high as heaven.”

But Ahaz refuses. “I will not ask,” he says. “I will not put the Lord to the test.”

At first glance, this sounds pious. It sounds faithful. But Isaiah knows better. Ahaz’s refusal is not humility; it is fear. He has already decided where his trust will lie—not in God, but in political alliances and human power. He does not want a sign, because a sign would demand faith, obedience, and courage.

So God gives a sign anyway.

“Look,” Isaiah says, “the young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel.”

God with us.

Not a military victory. Not instant safety. But a child. A promise wrapped in vulnerability. A sign that God is present within the mess, not magically removing it.

Fast forward several centuries, and once again we find ourselves in a moment of fear and uncertainty—this time with Joseph.

Joseph is not a king. He has no throne to protect, no army to command. He is an ordinary man, quietly living a righteous life. And then his world begins to unravel.

Mary, to whom he is engaged, is found to be pregnant. Matthew tells us simply that Joseph is “a righteous man.” He does not want to expose Mary to public disgrace, but neither can he see a way forward. So he resolves to dismiss her quietly.

It is a deeply human moment. Joseph stands at the edge of a future he did not choose and does not understand. His plans—good, faithful plans—are collapsing. He is caught between compassion and obedience, love and law.

And it is here, in Joseph’s confusion and sorrow, that God speaks.

An angel appears to him in a dream and says, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid.”

Do not be afraid.

How often those words echo through Scripture. To frightened shepherds. To trembling prophets. To bewildered disciples. And here, to a man whose life has taken an unexpected turn.

“Do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife,” the angel says, “for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.”

And Matthew adds that all this took place to fulfil what the Lord had spoken through the prophet: “Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel”—which means, God with us.

This is not a new idea suddenly appearing in the New Testament. It is the fulfilment of a promise spoken centuries earlier into a fearful political crisis. The sign given to Ahaz becomes the salvation offered to the world.

But notice something important: in both Isaiah and Matthew, God’s promise does not remove uncertainty—it enters into it.

Ahaz’s kingdom will still face hardship. Joseph’s life will still be complicated. Mary will still face misunderstanding. The child Jesus will still be born into poverty, flee as a refugee, and grow up under occupation.

God with us does not mean a trouble-free life. It means a transformed life.

For Joseph, obedience requires courage. Matthew tells us that when Joseph wakes from sleep, he does exactly as the angel commanded. He takes Mary as his wife. Together they name the child Jesus. In doing so, both Joseph and Mary accept roles they did not expect and a future they did not plan.

Joseph says nothing in this Gospel. Not a single recorded word. His faith is shown not through speech, but through action—through quiet, steadfast obedience.

Advent invites us into that same posture.

We are a people who wait. We wait for Christ’s coming at Christmas. We wait for his coming again in glory. And many of us wait in very personal ways—for healing, for clarity, for reconciliation, for peace.

Like Ahaz, we may be tempted to rely on our own strategies, our own control. Like Joseph, we may feel caught in circumstances we did not choose. And into those places, God speaks not first with explanations, but with presence.

God with us.

Not God above us, distant and untouched. Not God instead of us, removing all difficulty. But God with us—in uncertainty, in vulnerability, in flesh and blood.

This is the heart of the Incarnation. The eternal God chooses not to remain remote, but to be born of a woman, entrusted to human care, dependent on love.

And this changes how we wait.

Advent waiting is not empty. It is attentive. It listens for God’s voice in dreams and in Scripture, in silence and in surprising places. It asks not only, “What will happen?” but “How is God with me here?”

As we move closer to Christmas, we do so knowing that the story does not rush to resolution. The promise unfolds slowly. The child grows. The cross looms in the distance even as the cradle waits.

But the name endures.

Jesus. Emmanuel.

God saves.
God is with us.

This Advent, may we have the courage of Joseph—to trust when we do not fully understand, to obey when the cost is real, and to believe that God is present even when the way forward feels uncertain.

And may we learn again that the greatest sign God gives us is not power, but presence.

Thanks be to God. Amen.